


The Tightrope

by voodoo_smile



Category: Indie Music RPF, Music RPF, Pop Music RPF, Real Person Fiction, Rock Music RPF, The Cure (Band), music and bands
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fanfiction, Recreational Drug Use, Slash, Smut, The Cure, Vaginal Sex, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 02:00:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12159300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoo_smile/pseuds/voodoo_smile
Summary: Setting: Robert/A stranger, 1983. On tour with Siouxsie and The Banshees, Japan.Disclaimer: I do not own The Cure. Everything described in this story is fictional.**Inspiration is taken from the lyrics to 'Watching Me Fall.' Robert said that the evening/events he wrote about in that song happened to him in Japan a very, very long time ago. This is my take on the events that unfolded that evening/next morning**WIP





	The Tightrope

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress. More will be posted as it develops.

He awoke with a start, his head aching, his vision foggy as he cracked his eyes open to the unforgiving, bright light of day.  
  
"Shit.” Robert mumbled, and wrinkled his brow in confusion at the vaguely familiar surroundings. He sighed heavily, brought his hand up to his forehead and rubbed it vigorously in the hopes of jarring his consciousness back into the present.

He shifted in the strange bed and attempted to sit up sluggishly, cautiously, only to find that he was alone. His body felt battered, decrepit, and his mind still wasn’t quite yet back from the events of the night before—what he could remember of them.

The light struggled to beam through the closed drapes and Robert blinked, realizing as the sheet slipped down his chest that he was naked, and he scanned the room as if in a daze, searching through squinted eyes for anything that resembled a piece of his own clothing. A puffy upholstered chair in the corner of the tiny room had a pile of assorted garments thrown over it, but the items were unfamiliar, the fabrics feminine and sheer.

Robert scratched at the stubble on his chin, swung his legs over the side of the bed and with a huff, hoisted himself up to stand. His eyes swept the room again until they finally spotted his leather trousers, shorts, button down, and coat strewn on the floor just outside the dark, cramped bathroom. He approached and scooped them up, letting out a chuckle of repugnance at himself, sliding each article on as if in pain, only to plop promptly back down on the bed.

There was nothing but an eerie silence surrounding him—no noises just outside the room and no sounds from the street below, only the creak of his leather trousers and the strike of a match as he lit a cigarette from the pack still in his shirt pocket, inhaling deeply and coughing as his gaze sunk listlessly down to the carpet under his bare feet.

He couldn’t seem to recall just how he got here, but something in the back of his wearied thoughts had told him that he hadn’t arrived alone.

***      ***      ***

It was winter in Japan and Robert was ill-prepared for the rare snow that had blanketed the area when he had arrived in Tokyo with the Banshees. Still, his walk alone around town one frigid night in just his flimsy, well-worn trench coat had been just what he needed. Though he was an old hand at filling in as guitarist for the Banshees, and at touring in general, it seemed as if this current trek was beginning to take its toll on him physically and mentally. He needed to escape.

The moon was a mere sliver of silver in the night sky as Robert kept walking and his thoughts constantly whirred through his mind about his estranged relationship from Simon, the demise of his own band occurring and, regrettably, how it had all gone wrong. Of course his current predicament wasn’t much of an improvement, as what was once a joyful experience of making music and touring was now becoming exhausting and hollow.

He held the collar of his coat to shield himself from the weather as people brushed by in the narrow, neon lit streets, hurrying to one place or another. They all seemed as if they were heading somewhere, but not Robert. He was aimless and anonymous for the first time in ages in a sea of strangers and it was perfect. It was exactly what he wanted.

The last of the alcohol he drank earlier back at the hotel was beginning to wear off and Robert’s hands felt nearly numb from the cold. He had to find a warm place where he could simply sit and continue to drink alone, but where? The red light district in this small town had been his only option as he chose to venture out on foot and it was close to the hotel. It didn’t seem like much at first, and now the mere few blocks it comprised were overwhelming, buzzing with noise, and lights blinking incessantly. He felt as if he was walking through a maze with endless options. 

He finally stopped in front of what looked like a bar, or some sort of small club, but it was difficult to distinguish as the sign in Japanese was of no help. At this point, he was exhausted and desperate and had nothing to go on other than instinct, and as he stepped inside, he hoped he’d made the right choice.

The heavy door shut behind him quickly with a bang and he noticed most of the patrons seated at the bar with their gazes fixed before them, heads all facing the other direction as the music played. They were intently watching something that Robert couldn’t view from his angle, but as his eyes swept around the room, he observed the male only clientele and the smell of overpowering perfume in the air, and Robert understood precisely just where he was.

He purposefully strode over to a small table towards the side and tucked himself away in the back of the room, avoiding the general population, and as a scantily-clad woman approached, Robert quickly retrieved his sunglasses from his pocket and slid them on.

After she took Robert’s order—an entire fifth of vodka—she returned to the doorway from where she had emerged, and motioned to two other female workers, until eventually all three were giggling and pointing in his general direction.

Robert dropped his gaze and shook his head at their gesturing towards him. Did he really look that different? He couldn’t seem to get away from it all; the pointing, the whispering and the laughing... He just wanted to be left alone and for the next hour, Robert had thought he’d finally achieved that as he sat by himself with his wretched thoughts simply stuck in time, not uttering another word amid the growing crowd.

He felt miserable, stifled—not being at the helm of The Cure meant little to no control over the Banshees' musical direction, and wisely, Robert chose not to voice his objections as to the dismal amount of creative input he was permitted, nor did he wear his heart on his sleeve. Not to Steve, not to anyone, no matter how significant or trivial their role was in his life. He’d already made those grand mistakes with Simon, eventually turning their relationship into an abomination—into something that should have never been, until it eventually all fell apart, leaving him scrambling to put his life back together.

Robert nearly laughed aloud at his thoughts of Simon and Steve and just how different his situation was with each of them. His relationship with Steve was, indeed, much different from anything he’d ever experienced. As far as Robert was concerned, they were friends, but it was for lack of a better term, a “friends with benefits” type of arrangement. It benefited Steve in the physical sense, as Robert certainly had an idea that Steve had fancied him for quite a while and that fact wasn’t difficult to overlook even by others. And Robert had benefited from the chemical and creative collaboration, and industry exposure Steve and the Banshees provided—nothing more. Robert and Steve were never confidants. They both took from each other what they wanted, and to Robert, it was all very calculated: he was merely paying his dues. It was nothing like what he and Simon had.

And now, sitting alone at the table with a chance to reflect on his current situation without all the clutter in his life, it dawned on him that it really wasn’t that different from what he had with Simon. He knew his selfishness would take over and he’d ultimately end up snubbing Steve, much like he did with Simon, but for different reasons. It wouldn’t be easy to sever the ties from Steve or the Banshees diplomatically, as his own livelihood was on also on the line and he couldn’t afford to burn any bridges—not when his career was at such an all-time low.  
  
Robert instantly realized that he had been foolish to become trapped in what he vowed to never repeat after the previous debacle, which resulted only in chasing away his best friend, confidant and lover for good. It was over as quickly as it began with Simon and Robert could have kicked himself for thinking he could have it all.

A sudden, yet familiar feeling of strangulation began to creep into his chest, signaling the beginning of the end all over again. He had to think of a way out of all this.

He lit another cigarette and poured another glass of vodka from the bottle, the contents of which was now half gone, and sat back in his chair. The bitter taste of disgust and regret in his mouth had quickly swelled, nearly making him vomit, and he took a gulp from his glass and swallowed hard, forcing the vodka down as his stomach churned.  
  
“Hi,” a female voice said.

Her voice startled him, but Robert didn’t budge from his seat or look up, even though he had a feeling she was speaking to him.

“Hello,” she repeated, “Mind if I sit here? There aren’t any seats open,” and Robert heard the sound of another chair being pulled up beside him.

He didn’t respond and lowered his gaze to the floor as she slid closer and set her drink down on the table.

“So...why are you wearing your glasses?” She asked, her accent emerging as she continued to speak quietly, “its dark in here.”

Robert slowly pulled them down on his nose and squinted as his gaze rose. He glanced around and noticed there were quite a few seats she could have claimed instead of the one directly across from him.

His eyes came back around and settled on the woman who made herself at home at his small table, and he took her in. She had a pretty face; her eyes dark and warm and her lips full and red, much like his girlfriend's, Robert thought. And from what Robert could see, she was shapely, and after a moment, she pulled her long, black hair to one side, revealing her décolletage through her low-cut, sheer blouse. She was Japanese, and her English was very good, but something about her— her clothes and jewelry seemed a bit different from a lot of the other young women he’d seen earlier around town. She seemed out of place here.

She grinned as she caught Robert’s lingering stare barely visible from beneath his dark lenses and her hand came forward, gently sliding Robert’s sunglasses down further until he caught them in his hand and set them on the table.

“Eyes like that shouldn’t be covered,” she said, and smirked before taking a sip of her cocktail, and Robert quickly looked down into his glass.

If it was a bloke sitting there, he wouldn’t have thought twice about telling him to bugger off, as Robert was no stranger to men and their attempts at picking him up. However, young, pretty females like the one in such close proximity were another thing entirely—such a pleasurable sight for his sore eyes to behold in such an unpleasant reality.

There was an awkward silence between them and Robert couldn’t think of how he should respond to her remark, if at all. He was drunk enough that his inhibitions were beginning to melt away, but the last thing he wanted to do was give the impression that he was open to company. With the way things were going in his life, to flirt with, or even speak to this strange woman would be another grand mistake; another failing with regard to that very same girlfriend he thought of moments before who had been waiting for him patiently back home, so oblivious to his extra-curricular activities while on tour.

Robert felt the guilt begin to slowly materialize from the corners of his mind and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, hoping those thoughts would dissipate with yet another gulp of booze. He brought his glass up for another generous swallow of vodka, purposely setting his ever-increasingly foggy gaze over on the far wall, away from the woman’s unrelenting scrutiny.

“You speak English, yes?” She asked, laughing lightly at Robert’s obstinate behavior.

He cleared his throat, and still remained mute, hoping the subtle gesture of silence would be a hint that he wasn’t up for conversation. But the cracks in his plan had surfaced as soon as he laid eyes on her.

“Yeah,” He finally croaked, defeated at last, “I don’t—I’m just tired,” he simply didn’t have the heart to be rude, yet he had hoped his dejected response would politely derail this exchange.

“Oh,” the woman said, a tinge of disappointment in her voice, “Sorry to bother you, then…” and as she rose from the table, it was his own voice that unexpectedly emerged, catching them both off guard.

“No!” Robert blurted and inwardly cringed, appalled by his state of near panic at the thought of this person leaving him. He closed his eyes for a moment in an effort to regain his composure before he dared to open his mouth again.

“It-it’s alright,” Robert’s voice was uneven, cracking as he continued, “Please…sit down.”

His jaw was set and his posture rigid as he waited for her reaction, breathing a sigh of relief as she quietly slid back down on to the chair.

The woman took another sip of her cocktail and leaned in closer to Robert, her eyes now searching his face, “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice hushed.

“I don’t know,” Robert muttered, and chuckled dryly at the sound of his own somber response.

He honestly didn’t know what else to say. He only knew that if he kept talking to her, one thing would most certainly lead to another, he was sure of it—he knew himself well enough. Robert suddenly felt trapped, torn from wanting it to happen—he could practically picture it in his mind, taste it—to wishing he had enough restraint to stop himself, but lately, he truly missed contact of the feminine sort. He had that at home, of course, but longed for someone that wasn't expecting anything in return afterwards. No obligations—not one string attached, and right now he needed this distraction in the worst way; a distraction from his own oppressive thoughts.

“Some air might do you good,” the woman suggested, and when Robert finally turned his glassy, deep blue gaze up to hers, she grinned sweetly, “Come…walk with me.”

As she reached for his limp hand resting on the table, Robert watched closely, apprehensive at first, but ultimately unable to pull away, wallowing in her soothing touch, her warm hand gently squeezing his…and he couldn’t help but reciprocate faintly.

“Come on, love,” she said, and gave his hand one more squeeze until she stood over him, her hair falling in front of her face as she continued to look down at his slumped body at the table.

Robert stood slowly, lifted his coat mechanically from the back of his chair and tiredly slid it on. The garment hung awkwardly on his body—one shoulder sliding off—until moments later, he felt those same warm hands slide it back up. As she stood in front of him and leaned in close, Robert took in the sweet scent of her dark hair.

“There,” she said, after briefly straightening his collar and buttoning him up. She took a step back to observe her work and smiled, “Now you look even more handsome,” and she leaned in further, giving Robert an unexpected quick, soft kiss on his cheek.

“Ready?” She asked, and picked her coat up from the chair, not bothering to wait for Robert’s response as she tugged at this hand.

***      ***      ***


End file.
